Coeur Loyal
by Erlea Baldwin
Summary: A talebearer revealeth secrets: but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter. Proverbs 11:13
1. Prologue

Notes & Disclaimers: Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling and associates. I own nothing but my own characters. The idea and title for this come from the life of King Henry VIII. Contains infidelity and mpreg, though not detailed.

* * *

I was five when my mother moved to Elder Cottage, fifteen miles north of Godric's Hollow. By then, she had all but been called an incestuous whore in the press. (I say "all but" because they were very careful to avoid anything that could bring a charge of slander against them.) That was hardly the only thing they implied, but it was the worst, _by far_. In the ten years since she married my father, she had been the wizarding world's princess; a seductress and enchantress of Circe's caliber; discovered and employed new and undetectable love charms and potions; and had her mind break under the strain of holding the Imperious curse over her husband for so long. Actually, that last isn't far off, except for the Imperious bit.

Mother's mind nearly did break under the strain of it all; that's why she moved us out to Elder Cottage.

Dad bought the cottage as a country get-away soon after he was elected Minister of Magic. I believe that the entire family has been here once, just after it was bought and Mother decorated it. We spent an idyllic weekend here, then returned to London.

Elder Cottage is so named because it houses the Elder Wand, behind so many layers of wards, alarms, and protective charms that it's barely visible in its muggle fiber-glass case. Papa Draco and Dad spent a week layering those spells. They're bound to their blood, which means only my brothers, all working in tandem, can get past them. And even with all three of them working together, I don't think they're magically strong enough.

No, Dad will continue to be master of the Elder Wand for the rest of eternity, I think.

But that's beside the point. I was telling you about Mother.

She was beautiful, once. I've seen pictures of her. From Hogwarts, from her wedding, even from the early years of her marriage. She was all smiling brown eyes, mischievous smiles, and flaming red hair. She had deep dimples in both cheeks and the freckles across her nose seemed to give her skin a healthy glow.

Now, she's just a shadow of that girl. At thirty, Mother was an old woman. Her hair was graying, her smile was slower, and her eyes were dimmer. A buried son, three miscarriages, and an unfaithful husband would be hard on any woman. When you add the press to that, is it really any wonder Mother fled to the country?

Mother likes to tell me the story of how she and Dad met. How she couldn't get past her schoolgirl crush long enough to say two words to him, but instead sent him a positively humiliating valentine to declare her love.

She likes to talk about how she and Dad got together. She had mostly gotten over the crush she had on him, had even dated other guys, but when he kissed her in the midst of an after-quidditch party in Gryffindor tower, she knew that her heart had always been his.

She loves telling me about her wedding day. It's the closest she gets to the glowing girl in the pictures. Her eyes light up even as they go a bit distant, and she recalls with vivid detail the white and gold satin that draped St. Marguerite's Cathedral at the end of Diagon Alley. Her voice goes soft as she talks about the crimson rosebuds and white lilies that flooded the aisles with their scent. There are usually tears in her eyes when she recounts the way Dad looked at her as if she were the only thing in the entire world that mattered. As if it could all disappear, Voldemort and his Death Eaters could return and burn Diagon Alley to ashes, and it wouldn't matter as long as Harry Potter got to look at Ginny Weasley in her wedding gown as she repeated her vows.

Mother hates talking about the war. She and Dad are alike in that. Grandpere Lucius is the only one who will really tell us kids anything, and that's only on certain nights. Mother, Dad, Papa Draco, Grandmere – they all clam up and change the subject whenever the war is mentioned. I know, from Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron, that Dad left Mother behind at the beginning of it all. I know from Professor Longbottom that he and Mother had a rough time of it at Hogwarts that year. But I don't know how Mother or Dad felt about any of it.

Mother also doesn't like to discuss Baby Arthur Frederick, buried next to the uncle we never knew, or the three babies that never even made it to their Naming Days and didn't get graves. The last time Grandma Molly brought up Arthur Frederick's grave, Mother locked herself in her bedroom and didn't come out for two days.

What Mother hates discussing, more than anything else, though, is my brothers. She can hardly be in the same room as them, and when she is it's only when she has no choice. They're only keyed to the wards at the Cottage because they're blood. To block them, she would have to block me as well, and Mother clings to me like a life preserver.

I suppose all of this requires a bit of explanation, and I'll get to that. But first, let me introduce myself:

I am Lily Victoria Potter, legitimate daughter of Harry James Potter and Ginevra Anne Weasley, regardless of what the media says.


	2. Chapter 1

Notes: Please see the prologue for Disclaimer. We get a bit of explanation on the familial ties Lily hinted at in the prologue. As always, please let me know what you think! Also, to stave off questions: in this story, Merlin is a title, like Caesar or - to a lesser degree - Minister. The concept for that comes from Marion Zimmer Bradley's Mists of Avalon books and has little or no bearing on the actual people Myrddin, or much grounds in the Arthurian legend. Anyhow, here I'm using it in the way Caesar was used in Rome: it's a title awarded by the Wizengamot to wizards who perform extraordinary service for Wizarding Britain. It's a step up from Order of Merlin, First Class, and is rarely awarded.

* * *

This isn't only my story. It's the story of my family, and it might be called cautionary.

My family is a varied one.

There's Dad: that's Harry Potter. Savior, Chosen One, Hero, Head Auror, Minister, and recently named Merlin. Once upon a time, he was Just Harry. But not anymore. If _Just Harry_ is still there somewhere, I've never met him.

Next, there's Mother: Ginny Weasley Potter. No hyphen. I told you about her, already.

My brothers: James Sirius, Scorpius Hyperion, and Albus Severus. James is oldest – he's four years older than me. Scorp and Al are twins – a year older than me – but Scorp is seven minutes older, and he never lets Al forget it.

Then there are the Malfoys: Papa Draco, Grandpere Lucius, and Grandmere Narcissa. That's a _very_ long part of my story, which we'll get to in a bit.

The rest of the family, I'm sure you're familiar with. You're probably already familiar with this bit of the family. We've never really had much by way of privacy. Maybe the Malfoy connection surprises you, though.

There's an old law that's still on the books with the Wizengamot, which protects a man's right to keep a mistress on the side, if his legal wife proves unable to give him a viable heir. Viable meaning a male child who survives the first five years of his life. It dates from the time after the Burning Days, when our population was severely depleted and extinction seemed a distinct possibility. There's a clause in the law which says that the legal wife may demand her husband's fidelity, after she provides him a viable heir.

Papa Draco is Dad's "mistress". Mother tried to demand his fidelity, but I'm not _viable_, and James is Dad's heir, besides.

I think I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's go back to the start:

**2002, July**

By Dad's twenty-second birthday, he and Mother had buried a son, and none of their three other children had survived the pregnancy. The healers said it was residual spell damage from the war, and that the only way Mother could carry a baby to term would be to go into one of the long-term wards at St. Mungo's as soon as the pregnancy was confirmed.

Dad and Mother were living in Grimmauld at the time. Dad had fixed it up before their wedding, as a surprise for Mother. After the last miscarriage, Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron had come to stay semi-permanently to help Mother through her depression. Dad dealt with his depression by logging more hours at Auror Headquarters and being hand-picked by Gawain Robards to take over the DMLE once he retired.

Uncle Ron has always had a wicked temper. Aunt Hermione told me that he once left her and Dad alone out in the forest during the war, in a fit of pique. None of the other Weasleys has his temper, except maybe Uncle Bill, but his is tainted by the werewolf curse. As far as I know, Uncle Ron doesn't have that excuse.

Dad and Uncle Ron had one screaming row when he and Aunt Hermione were staying with my parents. They were in the study, where the Black family tree had been restored and the Potter family tree was hanging opposite it. I don't know what all was said, but I know Uncle Ron was angry that Dad spent more time at work than with Mother. I also know that he blamed Dad for all of the dead babies. After all, Grandma Molly had seven children, before the war claimed one. No Prewett or Weasley woman had _ever_ had so much trouble, and the Potter family tree was full of childless couples, late births, and single children.

Aunt Hermione got into it then, and Uncle Ron has never repeated his accusations. Sometimes, though, he glances at me, then pointedly at the family tree, then Dad, and I know that he's thinking it so loud he might as well say it.

Of course, I wasn't there for any of this, but Kreacher still has a habit of talking to himself when he forgets that anyone's in the room. He's also none-to-fond of Uncle Ron now.

Anyway, on Dad's twenty-second birthday, he left England for a week-long conference on wards in Ottawa. He told Mother that he had to catch an early portkey, and he still had things to do at the office before that, which is why he left Grimmauld at half six. (His portkey didn't actually leave for six hours, which Mother must have _realized_. What does that tell you about their relationship?)

He did go to his office, and he did actually do some work, but he also met up with Draco Malfoy, who was also going to the conference. I don't think they planned it that way: Dad says they were barely friends at that point. Sometimes I wonder, though, given what happened next.

Draco was at the ministry more than his family's manor in those days, Dad says. He was an Unspeakable, specializing in the development of potions, poisons, and antidotes - the best in the department, he's very proud of pointing out – and he was never away from his lab for long. In fact, since the conference would take him away for a week, Dad says he was frantic about what would happen there in his absence. (Draco says he was merely making sure everything was prepared to be into a week-long stasis and that Dad is over-exaggerating. _As always_.)

They ended up waiting for their portkey together, sharing tea and croissants for breakfast, then grabbing a quick lunch as well. Dad says that their relationship didn't really go past friendship til later, but that the change started there, waiting in the Ministry Cafeteria, sipping low quality tea.

Draco wasn't married, of course. He finished his schooling in France after the war, and returned to England around the time that Baby Arthur was being buried and Dad was shooting through the ranks in the Aurors. He entered Unspeakable training almost immediately, and he and Dad didn't see each other much until Dad had to consult with the DOM on a case involving a potion-smuggling ring.

They were mostly just cordial to each other, though they did eat together if they happened to find themselves in the cafeteria at the same time. It wasn't until the conference that things changed.

No one likes to discuss the Ottawa Conference, but based on the twinkle in Draco's eye and the way Dad squirms a bit when it's mentioned, I figure that it simply isn't something they wish to discuss with their children. (And as _that_ is something I don't wish to discuss with my parents, that's all for the better!)

After they got back from Ottawa, Dad and Draco spent a lot more time together. They began scheduling meals, and not just lunches. You might call them dates, but there wasn't really much romance to them. The meetings were only noted in the news because of Dad and Draco's long history.

When Draco told Dad he was pregnant, Dad was a bit dumbfounded. Actually, he passed out cold in Draco's lab at the ministry. To be fair, Dad had no idea that wizards _could_ get pregnant, because before that, they _couldn't_. Draco had been experimenting with fertility potions, and he finished development on the Male Fertility Potion only a few weeks before that. He used himself as a test subject without telling Dad. Dad was a bit angry about that, until Draco gave his reason:

"_Anyone can see how desperately you want children, Harry, and how close those miscarriages came to destroying you. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to get your hopes up, in case it didn't work."_

Dad says he nearly cried when Draco told him that.

Mother was nearly crushed when Dad told her about Draco and the baby, but Draco had agreed that she and Dad could raise the baby, as was traditional when a mistress bore the heir to an old family. Mother still wasn't _happy_, but she could see how excited Dad was, and she didn't have the heart to raise too much of a fuss. So she went into a false confinement at the same time that Draco went into a very real one. (Mistresses may have been legally allowed and politely ignored in society, but homosexuality was still very illegal at that time.)

James Sirius was born at Malfoy Manor and transported to Grimmauld Place as soon as the healer cleared him for floo travel.

A month later, Draco stood as godfather for his own son during the Naming Ceremony at St. Marguerite's. Mother, who had fallen in love with James the minute she saw him, had stood, hand hooked through Dad's elbow, and smiled as the newspapers took more pictures than they could possibly need.

I've seen those photos, and Mother looks so naïve. Dad can't keep his eyes off Draco holding James, pride shining from his every pore. Mother keeps looking at Dad with hope, as if she believes that now he'll be only hers again. It's really a bit heartbreaking.


	3. Interlude, I

(Notes at the end!)

* * *

**An Interlude: Malfoy's Prerogative**

When Draco first approached his father with his notes and half-formed plans, his palms were nearly sweating. Only judicious use of The Malfoy Mask kept him from licking his lips and stammering like … well, like a fifth-year Gryffindor asking out his crush.

After he had finished outlining and explaining, after Lucius had his notes and diagrams spread across the redwood desk in front of him, Draco sat back, Mask still in place, and held his breath as he waited for his father's response.

He wasn't expecting Lucius to look up with something that was almost a smile and say, "Maître Boucher is a notorious taskmaster. Are you sure you're up to it?"

Draco had almost grinned in relief, but managed to rein it in to a smug smile. Aldric Boucher was the potions master Severus Snape apprenticed under, and he made his protégé appear tame as a kitten in comparison. If the rumours were anything to go by.

"I believe I will survive, Father. After all, he can't be a worse taskmaster than Aunt Bellatrix." Both Malfoys politely ignored the shudder that ran through the other as Lucius called for tea.

*

As it turned out, Maître Boucher was _much worse_ than Bellatrix. He may not use Cruciatus or Lamnia Curses to make Draco scream and bleed with every mistake, but his weapons were forged and wielded to strike where it hurt Draco the most: his pride.

However, Draco persevered, and after three years in France returned to England with his potions mastery. He approached the Department of Mysteries with the letter of reference from Aldric and was accepted into Unspeakable training almost immediately.

*

Draco didn't know what to think when he looked up at the door to his lab and saw Harry Potter standing there. He had followed news of The Boy Who Lived through The Daily Prophet since his return to England, and he had noticed Things about the other man when they nodded greetings in the hallways of the ministry.

Things like the bags under his eyes most days, or the fact that his smiles – even the ones directed at friends – didn't quite reach his less-than-bright eyes. Draco, like everyone else in Wizarding Britain, had heard news of the Potters' problems securing an heir. He remembered, vividly, the first time he saw Harry after Baby Arthur's funeral. The man had been vaguely reminiscent of the Dark Lord's pet Inferi.

He also noticed that Harry seemed to be in his office earlier than his co-workers in the mornings and that he stayed there later in the evenings. He wasn't the only one to notice, and rumour had it Robards was eyeing the young hero to be his successor based on that work ethic.

Most of all, Draco noticed the way Harry had fairly beamed as he escorted his wife from his office to the apparition point one day when Ginny had surprised her husband for lunch. And he noticed how Harry seemed even more depressed a few months later, when news of Mrs. Potter's miscarriage circulated.

The man who stood in the doorway now bore little resemblance to the boy Draco had known at Hogwarts, and Draco watched him guardedly as he set a stasis spell on the potion he was working on.

"Malfoy." Potter's voice was almost toneless; professional, though polite would have been a bit of a stretch.

"Potter," Draco straightened, "I understand congratulations are in order."

Draco almost didn't catch the spark in those green eyes, but he couldn't have missed the caution that smothered it. It seemed that two miscarriages and a buried son had taught Harry not to be too hopeful when his wife announced her fourth pregnancy.

"We'll see." Potter's voice lowered an octave with those words, and Draco raised an eyebrow but let the subject drop.

"May I help you with something?" The relief in the Auror's eyes was a bit clearer than the spark of hope had been, and he motioned to Draco's desk with the file in his hand.

*

Draco helped Harry celebrate his twenty-second birthday with dinner in the hotel restaurant a few hours after they arrived in Ottawa. Ever since they had worked together on that potions-smuggling case last year, the two had become more cordial and even friendly. Draco knew that Harry spent more time in his company than he did in Ron Weasley's, even though the red-head and his wife had temporarily moved into the Potters' house.

Dinner that night was a pleasant experience. Draco caught a few glimpses of the Harry Potter he remembered from Hogwarts that evening. His green eyes regained a bit of their shine, and his mouth curved into at least one smile that reached his eyes. Draco felt inordinately pleased.

The two weeks of the conference, Draco ate nearly every meal with Harry. They even spent their free afternoons together, taking in the sights of their host city. It was next-to-last day of the conference, and Harry had dragged Draco into a garishly lit building whose sign proclaimed "Laser Quest" in obnoxious neon.

Draco curled his lip, but allowed Harry to drag him around. He figured he owed it to the Auror, after forcing Harry to accompany him to L'Écho D'Un Peuple the day before. He did enjoy himself in the end, but refused to let Harry know that. He was complaining loudly, in fact, as he and Harry hung their vests up on their way out.

"I still _cannot believe_ you missed that last shot, Potter!" He was griping loudly as he turned toward his companion. "He was two feet in front of –"

Draco cut off abruptly as he turned around and came nose-to-nose with Harry. He hadn't heard the Auror moving in behind him, and he realized he was now effectively cornered.

"Draco," Harry's voice was low and there was something in his eyes that made Draco's breath catch, "Shut up for a minute."

And Harry kissed him.

*

Draco wasn't sure, upon returning to England, whether Harry would want to continue what they had started in Ottawa, but he certainly didn't argue when Harry started inviting him out to dinner.

Aside from the one night they spent together in Canada, their physical relationship progressed slowly. It wasn't until the day after Ron "forgot" a copy of the Weasley family tree in Harry's inbox that the Deputy Head Auror spent the night at Malfoy Manor.

The next morning, Draco threw himself into his research on fertility potions – a project of his since he realized he was gay back in fifth year, and the whole reason he had pursued his mastery – and he barely emerged from his lab for the next three weeks.

When he finally began to see results in the preliminary tests, Draco nearly wept. When he saw the results of the Fructarius Spell he cast on himself, he did weep. He cast every spell he and his mother – who had left Healer training when she married his father – knew to ensure the fetus was healthy. When they could find no evidence that Draco couldn't carry the baby to term, he decided he needed to tell Harry.

He had planned to break the news to his lover over a private dinner in Narcissa's Winter Garden, but when Harry met him at his lab, excuses and apologies in his eyes, Draco made his announcement without a shred of tact.

Harry had stared at him blankly for a nearly a full minute before he shook his head, cleared his throat, and said, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm pregnant, Harry." Draco's face softened along with his tone as he took a hesitant step towards the other man.

"I thought that was what I heard …" Harry trailed off with a vague nod, and Draco began to feel a bit worried. Harry's eyes had gone a bit glazed, and he swayed dangerously on his feet. Draco had raised a hand and taken another step when, with a mumbled, "Excuse me," Harry fainted in the doorway of the lab.

*

James' birth was the most excruciating, wonderful moment of Draco's life to that point. Harry sat with him in the bed at the Manor, propping Draco's shoulders against his broader chest. He took all of the abuse Draco heaped on him – both verbal and physical via the death grip the blonde had on his hand – as his due and didn't once cease to praise and encourage his lover.

When, after nearly ten hours of hard labour, James' first wail filled the air, Draco began to cry along with his infant son. The Healer, a trusted friend of Narcissa's who was nonetheless bound with an Obliviation Clause in the contract he had signed, carefully cleaned, measured, and checked Baby James over as Harry and Narcissa helped get Draco cleaned up and moved to his own bed.

Draco was dozing fitfully, his parents seated silently beside his bed, when Harry brought their son in.

"Ready to meet your Papa, Jamie?" Harry was speaking to his son, but his eyes were on Draco, who was pushing himself up and leaning forward anxiously. They had agreed that, as Harry's heir, the Auror should pick the name for the baby. Draco had smiled and nodded when Harry chose "James Sirius". A fitting name for a child who was both Potter and Black.

Once James was settled in Draco's arms and Harry at his back, Narcissa and Lucius leaned closer to get a look at their grandson. Narcissa reached out and brushed a trembling hand through the tuft of dark hair, and Lucius actually smiled as he caught his son's eye.

"Well done, Draco." Draco thought he saw a tear in the corner of his father's eye, but he politely ignored it in favour of the pride that shone in the older man's gaze. "Very well done, indeed."

*

It was harder than Draco had anticipated, watching Harry floo out with their son. He had known, of course, that it was necessary; Draco couldn't suddenly have a baby that looked exactly like his male lover, and the Potters' baby couldn't magically disappear. They had talked about it so many times, he had thought his ears would bleed before it was settled. They would conform to tradition, and Harry would take James home to Grimmauld Place. Ginevra Weasley would raise his son, and Draco would go on as always.

It wasn't a full week before Draco realized that he _could not_ live with that arrangement. He sent Harry an urgent – and carefully warded and worded – message to bring James to the Manor that night. When Harry and James left the next morning, a new arrangement was in place. Now Harry and James would spend weekends at Malfoy Manor with Draco, and Draco could - hopefully - sleep a bit easier at night.

*

When a copy of James' Naming Certificate arrived the morning of his Naming Day, Draco was unsurprised. His only regret as he carefully spread the document out on his desk and continued to fasten his cufflinks was that his name was listed as "Godparent", and not one of the parents.

He allowed himself one deep sigh, then buried any negative feelings he might have and called for his house elf, Topsy, to order the Certificate framed.

*

Lucius and Narcissa accompanied Draco to St. Marguerite's, naturally. They were seated in the second row, behind Arthur and Molly Weasley and across the aisle from Ron and Hermione Weasley. Lucius' Malfoy Mask was firmly in place, though it was impossible to completely stifle the pride that shone in his slate-grey eyes when his Heir accepted James from Ginny Potter and took his place across the baptismal font from the priest. Narcissa made no effort to stem her tears of joy, but she had the presence of mind to release them silently, silk hankie pressing frequently to the wet skin of her eyes and cheeks.

Draco was scarcely aware of any of this, however, as the chapel had faded to background noise the moment he held his son again. He looked down into his baby's face and felt his breath stutter, as it always did. James' dark hair was a tuft on top of his head, and the still-cloudy eyes focused easily on Draco's face. James waved a clenched fist towards his papa's chin, and Draco heard Harry chuckle behind them.

Were it not for the pervading scent of Ginny's perfume, Draco could almost convince himself that they were in the informal sitting room at Malfoy Manor, instead of standing before most of Wizarding Britain. He lowered his face to James, nuzzling an Eskimo kiss against the baby's cheek and inhaling the clean scent of talc powder.

As the ceremony commenced, Draco thought he had never been more content than he was in this moment, his son in his arms, his lover at his back, and his parents radiating pride and joy from across the room. _This_ is what he had worked so hard towards: this sense of accomplishment, joy, and pride that beat in his chest as he gazed down at the child he bore.

* * *

Notes: Draco was holding the story hostage until he got to tell his side. And who am I to deny a Malfoy! Okay, all joking aside, this little interlude was entirely unplanned when I originally plotted out the story. It was meant to be strictly from Lily's perspective, with momentary flashbacks to conversations that shape major story points. Turns out the players had something else in mind, so now there will be periodic interludes, like this one, where the characters will get to express their own feelings and impressions of the things that Lily is relating. Also, as a note, I don't speack French, I've never been to Ottawa, and the most Latin I know is from Harry Potter spells and old church hymns. So please keep that in mind if and don't get too angry if I've messed some finer point in those regards.

Spell Notes:

Lamnia Curse - A curse usually used in torture; it causes multiple small cuts to appear on the victim's body. Death in the target is rare, but is almost always due to blood loss.

Fructarius Spell - A standard pregnancy test used by Healers. It's a bit more accurate than other such spells; like a home-pregnancy test versus a test performed at a doctor's office.

Obliviation Clause - Exactly what it sounds like, I think: If the Healer attempts to tell anyone about the Malfoys' medical records without prior permission, his employment with the family is wiped from his memory entirely. It's a way for the overly-paranoid former Death Eater family to ensure that none of their dirty laundry gets aired in The Daily Prophet.

Translations and other notes:

Maître - Schoolmaster

L'Écho D'Un Peuple - A festival held in Ottawa between June and August celebrating the history of the French in Ontario. It involves 300 actors, dancers, and jugglers; 1,000 characters; lasts two hours; and is performed in French. It sounded like it would be Draco's cup of tea, but certainly not Harry's. Which is why Harry chose the wonderfully muggle, childish fun of Laser Quest as revenge!

Thank you all so much for reading Coeur Loyal! I'm amazed - over 100 hits and the story's only been up for, what?, two days? You all rock! A special thanks to sliverbirch; your feedback is so very encouraging and heartening. I hope that you continue to enjoy the story and let me know your opinions.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2, now that Draco's done screaming in my ear!

* * *


	4. Chapter 2

(Notes at the end.)

* * *

**2003-2005**

James' first year was a busy one for the wizarding world. Dad had risen fast in the Ministry, with Draco and Grandpere guiding him quietly from the background. He was a step away from the Minister's seat before James' first birthday.

The public couldn't get enough of the Potters. James was the media's darling: poster boy for the new generation. Every week, it seemed, there was a photo spread of the happy family out shopping, or walking through the Dumbledore Gardens that opened shortly after the end of the war. And if James' godfather seemed to be present more than his mother, no one mentioned it. Very loudly, anyway.

In truth, Mother and Dad's relationship had suffered horribly when it became clear that he wouldn't set Draco aside. In fact, he and James spent almost every weekend at Malfoy Manor. Mother spent some time at The Burrow with Grandma, but not a lot. Grandma never quite understood why Mother and Dad's marriage wasn't as blissful and happily-ever-after as they had all expected. She tended to blame Mother, even if she didn't mean to. So Mother spent most of her time with Uncle Ron.

Growing up, Grandma says that Mother was always trailing after Uncle Ron. And Uncle Ron has always been more protective of his baby sister than the other Weasley sons were. Which is really saying something.

So, Mother turned to Uncle Ron, as she always had. And Uncle Ron tried his best to help his baby sister, but there was only so much he could do. Aunt Hermione did what she did best and stepped in as peace keeper when Uncle Ron tried to have a go at Dad.

And, really, it's hard for even infidelity to a sibling to destroy a friendship that survived a decade and a war.

Things continued on like that for a while. It was tense, of course, but Dad and Mother may have found their way through it, if it hadn't been for the media.

People started to notice that Mother didn't go out in public with Dad and James very often. The newspaper openly cast aspersions on Mother's parenting skills. Dad, who still loved Mother and has always been loyal to a fault, talked to Aunt Hermione. An article was soon published in a wizarding medical journal about postpartum depression, and reporters stopped openly criticizing Mother. Though they never let up entirely. At least, not until the announcement that they were expecting, again, two years later.

It was the same arrangement as before: Mother and Draco went into confinement at the same time. This time, though, Draco was on the continent. Dad had bought a house in Germany for Draco, and that was where Scorpius Hyperion and Albus Severus were born. Just like with James, Al was smuggled through to Grimmauld Place as soon as he was cleared for the floo. The only difference was that, this time, Draco needed an heir. He was still scion of the houses Malfoy and Black. Grandmere says it's a good thing Scorp looks so much like Draco and was born first. He was named Draco's heir, and Dad took Al – who looked eerily like himself and had been named heir to the Black fortune – home to Mother.

When Draco and Scorp returned from Germany, the Malfoys had found a witch from a poor, pureblood family in France to live at Malfoy Manor and pose as the new Mrs. Malfoy. It was a bit of a scandal, Draco coming home with a new wife and a child after being away scarcely a year.

Dad stood as godfather at Scorpius' Naming Ceremony, a week before Draco stood as godfather for the second time at Albus'.

I don't know if it was Albus' resemblance to Dad, or the fact that Scorp had the same green eyes as Dad and Al. Maybe she was getting tired of not seeing herself in the children she claimed as her own. The grey flecks in James' hazel eyes, the golden highlights in his brown hair, Al's green eyes and slightly pointed chin; it all wore on her, I suppose. Whatever the reason, Mother became a bit … unstable after Al's Naming Day party.

Dad noticed, of course. He would have been blind not to. He tried to get her to go to a mind healer, or even to talk it out with Aunt Hermione, who had taken classes in psychology at muggle university. Mother refused, though, and clung to Uncle Ron more, instead.

Right before Mother and Dad were married, Dad had helped fund Snape House, the Home for wizarding children who were in situations deemed unsafe in the muggle world. He says it was a long overdue precaution against a second Tom Riddle being passed over at Hogwarts. After the wedding, Dad remained on the Board of Directors, but Mother largely took over his responsibilities, especially after he began his rise through the ranks of the Auror department.

After Albus came to Grimmauld Place, Mother threw herself even more enthusiastically into her work at Snape House. The Dodderidge School was the Directors' latest pet project, and Mother devoted all of her time to its planning. Uncle Ron was with her at the school quite a bit, since he was still on paternity leave from the ministry after Hugo's birth. He would follow Aunt Hermione to the school, then trail after her and Mother, keeping Rose and Baby Hugo entertained.

This was the reason that, when Mother's pregnancy made itself known in the form of debilitating abdominal cramps, Uncle Ron was the one who took her to St. Mungo's. He was also the one who sat by her side for the two hours of examinations and tests before the Aurors were able to track down Dad, who was in the field at the time.

Naturally, Dad rushed to the hospital and spent the night there with Mother while Uncle Ron went home to Aunt Hermione. However, the damage was done, so to speak. The Daily Prophet ran the story of Uncle Ron's frantic demands for help as he stumbled from the floo, Mother cradled against him since she couldn't stand, both disheveled and covered in dust. And with Rita Skeeter in charge, the story had an undertone of scandal and sensationalism that was notably lacking in the actual event.

The Weasleys read the story, but scoffed at its ridiculousness and agreed that it would be better not to tell Dad and Mother until they had more news about the baby.

News of the baby – me – was the next bit leaked to the media. Amazingly, the article was completely accurate and even tentatively congratulatory. The reporter even went so far as to close with, _"Our hearts and prayers are with our young hero and his bride …"_

It was only in the privacy of their sitting rooms that the wizarding world put the article together with Skeeter's last masterpiece and eyebrows raised as gossips grimaced delicately and whispered to each other behind silk fans and hankies.

But Dad and Mother remained blissfully unaware of the latest scandal plaguing their names. Mother was stuck at St. Mungo's for the duration of her pregnancy, and Dad had taken a leave of absence from the Ministry. He had taken James and Albus to Malfoy Manor as soon as he heard about Mother, and that was where the three of them stayed while Mother was in confinement.

It was the Malfoys who brought the articles in The Prophet to Dad's attention. They advised him to keep Uncle Ron from being seen visiting his sister without Aunt Hermione, in an attempt to cut off the rumours where they were. Dad passed this on to Aunt Hermione, and she did her best to help, but Ron refused to believe that people would honestly take _Rita Skeeter's_ word that there was something sordid about his relationship with his sister.

* * *

Notes: I can't get over how well-received this story has been. Even people who don't like slash or mpreg are letting me know they like it, and that means the world to me. Thank you, everyone who has reviewed. You are all gems and deserve all the sweets in Dumbledore's vault. I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter. I realize it's a bit short, but the story refused to give me more.

As always, feedback is most appreciated!


	5. Chapter 3

(Notes at the end.)

* * *

**2006**

I was born just a few hours after the New Year was rung in. Dad and the entire Weasley family crowded into the cramped family waiting room in St. Mungo's maternity ward. Mother went into labour as midnight was tolling, and taken in for an emergency c-section two hours later.

Dad had been shuffled out to the waiting room by the medi-wizard who explained the situation to the rest of the family, stating that there was simply no room in the operating room for Dad to join Mother.

Aunt Hermione tells me that Dad was frantic during the two hours that followed. He spent most of the time pacing and muttering under his breath, she says. Having seen Dad while he's highly agitated, I can easily imagine him tugging at his hair and glancing at the door to the waiting room every few seconds. It's how he looked when Albus was taken to St. Mungo's after he ran his broom into the branches of the oak tree in the back yard when he was nine, and how he looked when James had his appendix out when he was fourteen.

When a different medi-wizard finally returned, Aunt Hermione says Dad nearly jumped on him. She says that the poor man was so intimidated by _the Harry Potter_, he could barely stammer out that the operation was over, I was in the nursery, and Mother would be in recovery for the next few hours. Dad practically flew down the hall to the nursery, while Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, and the rest of the family found out where and when Mother would be able to see them.

Dad told me once that I wrapped him around my finger the moment he laid eyes on me in the bassinet, swaddled in more pink than he'd seen me in since. When the medi-witch in charge handed me over to him, he couldn't do anything but blink down at me. He says it was the first time his mind went completely blank when he met one of his children. Papa Draco says he still hasn't recovered.

*

We were kept in the hospital for two weeks after my birth, and Mother was on bed rest for two weeks after that, so it wasn't until Valentine's Day that Mother was out in the world again.

In the meantime, the announcement of my birth had run in The Daily Prophet, along with a picture. Rita Skeeter, continuing in the same vein she had started eight months previous, waxed on about my resemblance to the Weasley family, and especially my cousin Rose. The article was largely ignored by Mother and the Weasley family, though Dad and Aunt Hermione resolved to keep a closer eye on things.

Rita seemed to take courage from the family's silence, and the weekend before Valentine's Day, she printed an editorial piece stating in clear black and white that I was in no way a Potter.

The fallout was immediate. Mother was inundated with Howlers almost before she knew what the fuss was about, and the stress almost put her back on bed rest. Dad was beyond livid. Uncle Ron says that the only time he ever got that angry before then was when Voldemort was at the height of his return.

There was a restraining order and slander suit filed against The Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter before the night was out.

Mother says that she saw the boy she had fallen in love with in Dad that night. He was once again the hero charging to the rescue of the damsel in distress.

An apology was printed the very next day, but the damage was done. Everyone looked at me and saw, not the product of my parent's marriage and love, but the result of a torrid affair between my mother and her own brother, Ron. The mention of it still makes Mother dry heave in disgust.

Luckily, by the time of my Naming Day – a month later than tradition dictates – people had learned to back off. The ceremony was to be held at St. Marguerite's just after the lunch hour on the first Saturday of March. As always, the Naming Certificate and birth records were owled to Mother and Dad from the Department of Records at the ministry the morning of the ceremony. Unfortunately, Mother opened the packet …  
_  
"Harry James Potter!" The shriek from the kitchen was perfectly audible in Harry's study, two floors up, and he sighed heavily and rubbed his temples before looking back to the head in his fireplace. Though they were the washed-out green of the floo, Harry could still see the amusement sparking in the grey eyes._

_"It would seem that the Naming Certificate has arrived." Draco's cultured tones nearly drowned out the sound of feet pounding up the stairs. Merlin, Ginny had made a fast recovery._

_"Sounds that way." Harry agreed with another heavy sigh. "I should go. We'll see you at the church this afternoon."_

_"And then you and the boys will join us for supper tonight, right?" It wasn't a real question; they always ate supper at Malfoy Manor on Friday night._

_  
"Of course," Harry would have continued, but he could hear Ginny just outside the door now. "Til then, love." He signed off quickly, ending the fire call as Ginny threw open the study door. Harry's eyes hardened almost imperceptibly at the sight of his wife._

_"What. Is. This?" Her tone was clipped, though her voice wavered, as she thrust the parchment in her hand across the desk at him._

_"Looks to be Lily's Naming Certificate." Harry answered, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. He looked relaxed and nonchalant, though his eyes held a subtle warning._

_Which Ginny ignored._

_"I know that!" Her voice was nearing the shrieking range again. "What do you mean, naming_ that man _Lily's godfather?!"_

_Harry took a deep breath, trying to keep his hold on his temper._

_"Watch yourself, Gin. The boys are still here." Harry knew that his wife held little in the way of warm feelings for his lover, but he would be damned if his sons heard their parent maligned within his hearing._

_Ginny lowered her voice to a hiss. "What were you_ thinking_?!" She demanded, her face screwed up in a way that reminded Harry disturbingly of his Aunt Petunia. Suppressing a shudder, he took the certificate from Ginny's shaking fist and smoothed his hand over the line for "Godparents". Draco's name gleamed up at him, the ink still fresh, if dry._

_"I was thinking," Harry began slowly, "that were anything to happen to us, I want the children to stay together. They would need each other. And you can't say Draco hasn't got the experience or the ability to care for an infant."_

_The barb was almost assuredly unintended, but Ginny flinched anyway as it struck home. She knew that Draco was a more experienced parent than her. She couldn't stand to be in the same room as James and Albus anymore without Ron and Rose and Hugo and now Lily there as a buffer. The wound was – would always be - too fresh, and seeing the Malfoy traits in the boys rubbed it raw daily._

_Ginny took a slow breath and raised her chin. Her shoulders came back as she gathered up every ounce of her Gryffindor pride and Weasley stubbornness to pit against her husband._

_"I want you to end it." Her tone was so controlled and quiet that it took a moment for Harry to understand. When he did, he rose slowly from his chair, his green eyes hard as flint. Ginny recognized Head Auror Potter in his stance._

_"Excuse me?" His own tone was controlled and almost calm. Ginny suppressed another flinch at the sound. She would continue. It was her right to demand this._

_"I demand that you end your affair and remain faithful to me. I've given you a child. It's my right to have this!" Her voice had risen in desperation at the end, until she was nearly pleading with him._

_Harry was unmoved. "It's your right if you give me a viable heir." He corrected, almost gently but with very little warmth. "Arthur is still dead, Gin, and Lily cannot inherit. James is still my heir."_

_"No!" Ginny was close to stomping her foot in frustration. "You can make Lily's husband your heir, when the time comes! Send James and Albus back to the Malfoys."_

_Harry's eyes hardened, and when he spoke, his voice had chilled._

_"Are you listening to yourself?" He spoke slowly, as though to a particularly dim-witted child. "Do you really think I would send_ any_ of my children away? James is my heir. Albus is Heir to the House of Black. I _will not_ send them anywhere._

_"Besides," he continued dismissively, "if the rumours are to be believed, Lily has less claim to the Potter legacy than you do."_

_Ginny gasped, feeling like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her. She swayed slightly before sinking slowly into the chair in front of Harry's desk._

_Neither of them had mentioned those horrible rumours or articles since the apologies had been printed. Never did Ginny think Harry would use them as a weapon against her. The man she married, Her Harry, never would have. Stricken brown eyes rose to meet hardened green ones, and Ginny searched desperately for some sign of that man. She found none._

_Ginny lowered her eyes to her hands, clasped together in her lap to stop them trembling. _'When?'_ Her numb mind whispered._ 'When did My Harry disappear? And why didn't I notice?'

Mother went through the motions of the Naming Ceremony and the reception that followed. Her smiles were even genuine through parts of the day. But that night, she moved her belongings into a guest room closer to the nursery, and the next afternoon, she turned down Uncle Ron's invitation to lunch in Diagon.

* * *

Notes: I know, Poor Ginny, right? Yeah, that one hurt me to write.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed. I can't say enough how much I appreciate the time you take to let me know what you think. Please continue to share your thoughts!


	6. Interlude, II

(Disclaimer in the Prologue, notes at the end.)

* * *

**An Interlude: On Depopulation**

"_Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated."_ - Alphonse de Lamartine

When Harry dropped to a knee and proposed right there on Platform 9 ¾ after Ginny disembarked The Hogwarts Express for the last time as a student, she thought she would explode from the joy that filled her.

Almost immediately, she was set upon by her mother, Fleur, and more wedding magazines – muggle, wizarding, French, and English – than she had even known existed. Her NEWTs results were almost shrugged off, though she did admirably in Charms, Defense, and Transfigurations. After a passing glance at the invitation to Curse Breaker training with Gringott's – something she had always dreamt of doing – she placed the letter, along with the exam results, in her school trunk. She sent off a politely worded letter declining the position and promptly forgot about it. After all, she was getting married. Where would she find time for Curse Breaking when she and Harry had children? Perhaps, once the children were out of Hogwarts, she would revisit the idea.

Hermione was appalled at that, but Ginny merely laughed and shook her head. Despite living as a witch for nearly a decade, Hermione was still such a _muggle_ sometimes!

The wedding plans went smoothly. Harry requested that they have lilies, then wisely stayed out of things. Ginny had absolutely no problem with that, and white lilies of the valley and red rose buds were soon decided on as the flowers. Fleur went absolutely mad when it came to the colours. She insisted that metallic tones and light fabrics were the vogue on the continent, and shouldn't The Wedding Of The New Era, as The Daily Prophet was calling it, be as fashionable as they could make it?

Ginny and Harry had shared a laugh at that when she told him, but they let Fleur have her way.

Before she knew it, Ginny was decked out in a white silk gown embroidered with gold thread, billowing skirt flowing back into a long train, long sleeves buttoned modestly at the wrist, and gold-lined over-robe cinched at her waist. She felt like a princess as her mother fastened Great-Grandma Prewett's pearl necklace around her neck. Ginny could barely sit still long enough for Fleur to secure the veil over her plaited hair, and she rushed to the full-length mirror as soon as she was free.

She grinned brightly at her own reflection, ignoring the mirror's commentary, and took a moment to imagine her future as Mrs. Potter. It was a very bright one, indeed!

*

Ginny curled up on her side as soon as the door closed behind the Healer. She dug her fingers into her tangled hair in an attempt to _stop hearing those damned words_!

"_I'm so very sorry, Mrs. Potter. The babe could not be saved."_

She wanted to scream; her wail echoed down the sterile corridor to the family waiting room, where the Weasleys had gathered. She wanted to sob; she was soon retching into the pail provided by the hospital as her cries bordered on hysterical. She wanted to break something; a vase of flowers met its end against wall next to the door. She wanted to _hurt_ – gentle, firm hands grasped her wrists as she clawed at her arms, her face, her hair … anything.

She looked up, startled out of her rage and hysteria, into the sad green eyes of her husband. She stared at him for a long moment, silently begging him to fix it, to _save her baby_, collapsing against him when a single tear tracked down his cheek.

"God, Gin –" His voice broke, and he just tightened his arms around her as she sobbed into his chest.

*

Ginny grinned, exhausted and elated, as the Healer placed her baby – _her son_ – on her chest after so many hours of labour. The baby was still a month and a half early, but she could hardly care about any of that when _her son_ was nuzzling against her. She raised a shaking hand and gently traced over his tiny knuckles. When a larger, darker hand joined hers, and she turned her grin on Harry. He responded by pulling her into a hard kiss before returning his attention to their son.

"Welcome to the world, Arthur Frederick."

*

The day they buried Baby Arthur was icy. The ground was frozen in the Weasley family plot, but Harry had dug the grave himself – without magic – the night before. Ginny had no idea if he had slept at all. She hadn't; she had spent the night holding her baby one last time, watching the sunset, then the flickering candle, then the sunrise paint colours across his waxy cheeks. Just after sunrise, she had placed him gently in the gold-lined, white casket, kissed his cold forehead one last time, and allowed Ron and George to pull her down to the kitchen and a breakfast she hadn't touched.

The Weasleys and a few of their friends were gathered around the gravesite, respectfully silent as Ginny and Harry stood side by side, lowering their son into the icy ground.

The click and flash of the camera startled a shriek out of Ginny, and her hand immediately grasped her wand in its holster up her sleeve.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were faster to the draw, and the over-ambitious paparazzo was chased from the graveyard by spells ranging from a simple tripping hex to the Cruciatus Curse, though everyone pointedly ignored the use of the Unforgivable.

It was only then that Ginny noticed, to her horror, the mob of reporters around the cemetery's gate.

*

Ginny clung to Ron's hand, just as she had when she was a little girl, as he led her through Diagon Alley to the café where they were meeting Hermione for lunch. It had been a little over a month since Arthur's funeral, and Ron had taken some time off from the ministry to try and drag Ginny out of her self-imposed exile.

Ginny bitterly reflected that Harry hadn't taken any time at all. Quite the opposite, in fact: he was working longer hours and taking more field assignments than ever. She steadfastly ignored the voice at the back of her mind that pointed out he _had tried_ to help her, and she had shut him out.

He didn't understand! He _couldn't_ understand! She had buried _her son_!

"_He was my son, too, Gin."_ Harry's broken voice came back to her, repeating the words he had whispered to her just the night before as she stood in Arthur's nursery, gazing down at his empty bassinet. She had ignored him then, and after a long moment, he left with a defeated sigh.

*

Months passed, slowly at first, then with their regular flurry of ministry events, fund raisers, and work with Snape House. After several talks with her mum and Hermione, Ginny eventually came out of her grief and the gap between her and her husband was bridged.

When she discovered her pregnancy, she wept with joy before flooing straight from her Healer's office to the ministry.

Harry's excitement at her news quickly wiped out his annoyance at being called out of the meeting with Robards and Kingsley. He swung her around by her waist, laughing the whole time, and couldn't seem to stop touching her when they ate lunch together in the the cafeteria, or as he walked her back to the apparition point.

That night, Ginny cooked her mother's shepherd's pie – Harry's favorite. Things would be better this time, she was sure of it!

*

Two months later, as the Healer shook his head sorrowfully, Ginny didn't even cry. She simply … deflated. She couldn't bring herself to cry; there were no tears left, really. Not right now.

She slowly turned on her side, away from Harry, and stared at the wall until he left the room, muttering about telling the family. How many babies, she wondered, would she have to lose before the gods or fate or … _whatever_ saw fit to let her keep one?

*

When Harry returned from his trip to Ottawa, Ginny noticed that something was off. He didn't try to keep her attention the way he had before he left. There were no more flowers delivered for no reason, no more sweets greeted her on the entry table when she woke. They hadn't been intimate since the last miscarriage – a _fourth_ dead baby - but Harry stopped looking at her with that barely-concealed hope that _tonight_ …

He was spending a lot of time at the office, but that was nothing new. He had been doing that for ages.

Ron and Hermione had come to stay with them at Grimmauld Place, presumably at Harry's request. He had been after her to talk to someone about her grief. One of the mind healers at St. Mungo's, he said – he pleaded – or even Hermione! But how could she talk to them? How could they possibly understand the guilt that consumed her at her inability to give her husband a _single living child_, nevermind the heir that his legacy deserved.

She knew that Ron and Harry had fought, before Harry left for that conference. She had heard some of it as it reverberated through the walls, before Hermione stepped in and deftly stopped Ron's raging.

After Harry left, Ginny had entered his study and stared long and hard at the Potter family tree. It looked much the same as the Black tree behind her, but for the golden griffons, red stags, and white flowers embroidered with care along the edges. The family motto, "Coeur Loyal," Faithful Heart, was emblazoned across the top in bold gold letters.

She examined the tree carefully, tracing the direct line from Godric Gryffindor's younger sister Hildred to James Potter. So many childless marriages. So many infant deaths (including little Arthur Frederick) and heirs born late in the life of the parents. James' parents were no different – their son was born well after his mother, Eleanor Blackwell, was in her thirties.

Ginny frowned as she processed this. James and Lily seemed to be the exception, rather than the rule. Harry was born when Lily was twenty. Not as early as most witches, who wanted to be married and bearing children as soon as possible after school, but she was a muggleborn, and there had been a war going on.

Ginny brushed a thoughtful hand over her husband's name, then over her son's, and placed the hand against her belly. Was it possible this wasn't her fault at all …?

*

Harry told her about his relationship with Malfoy at the same time he told her about the other man's pregnancy – _his pregnancy_, for Godric's sake! – and the newly developed Male Fertility Potion.

Ginny left the room, swallowing hard around a scream that had lodged itself in her throat, and proceeded to give Harry the cold shoulder for the next week.

Finally, after long talks with her mum and Fleur, she reluctantly agreed that, if Malfoy could deliver a healthy baby, she would hold her tongue. Harry would hardly be the first wizard to look for an heir outside the marriage bed, after all.

So she went into the false confinement a week before Draco went into his real one. She watched in silence as her husband flooed to and from his lover's side throughout the next months. She treasured Hermione's presence in the house, as her sister-in-law was on maternity leave herself. Ginny stoically ignored the glares Hermione would shoot at Harry when he flooed home late at night.

When her husband brought James home, however, Ginny was instantly smitten. With the unruly dark hair and discolored face, he reminded her instantly of Arthur. She latched onto him as soon as Harry handed him to her, and resolved never to let go.

*

The argument over Malfoy caught her by surprise, though when she looked back on it she realized that it shouldn't have.

She brought the topic up over dinner one night a month after James' Naming Day. Harry had finished his dinner first and was plying James with a warm bottle while Ginny finished her meal.

The entire evening had been peaceful, starting when Harry took off work to come home early. He had joined her and James in the nursery after a quick shower, and they spent nearly half an hour dangling toys above the baby to watch him grab at them, or making faces trying to coax a smile.

Now, watching her husband coo at the infant in his arms, Ginny thought her family perfect. Except for one thing …

"Are you still taking James to Malfoy Manor for the weekend?"

Harry glanced up at the question and smiled. "Yeah," he answered her easily, "same as every weekend. Why?"

Ginny frowned. "Is it right for James to get attached to them? We don't want him to be confused as to who his family is."

Harry's smile melted noticeably. "I don't know what you mean."

"It's just," Ginny sipped at her coffee before answering, "The thing is, I don't think it fair, really, to the Malfoys. If they get too attached, what will happen when you stop taking James over there?"

Harry's smile disappeared entirely, and he frowned across the table in confusion. "Who said anything about not taking him over there?"

Ginny's jaw dropped open slightly as she struggled for a response to that. She had simply assumed …

"The Malfoys are his family, too, Gin." Harry's voice was gentle, his eyes almost pitying. "Draco is and will always be his papa. Lucius and Narcissa are his grandparents. I want him to know _all_ of his family, and for them to know him."

Ginny turned her face away to try and hide the hurt she felt at that.

"And my family?" She asked after a long silence. "We haven't taken him to The Burrow once since he was born. Mum was asking about that last week when I told her we couldn't make it to Sunday dinner. Again. She didn't know about Malfoy, you know. I didn't tell her."

Harry frowned again. "We'll take him to visit soon. Not for Sunday dinner, though. Hardly fair to the Malfoys to take him away from the Manor early."

"_Fair_?" Ginny's voice raised incredulously. "'Hardly fair to _the Malfoys_'?"

"They're his family, Ginny!" Harry's voice was fierce as he handed James off to Libby, the house elf Narcissa had insisted Harry accept when James was born. "They only get to see him on the weekends, anyway!"

"I thought _we_ –" she motioned between the two of them "- were his family! I thought you were going to leave off with Malfoy!" Her voice had risen to shouting, and in a distant part of her brain, she was glad James was no longer in the room.

"Obviously you thought wrong!"

"But _why_, Harry?" She was pleading with him now, trying – wanting, _needing_ - to understand. "You have an heir! You don't need -"

Ginny broke off at the fierce look Harry gave her.

"This was _never_ about an heir, Ginny." He was looming over her a bit now, as she seemed to be rooted to her chair. "I was involved with Draco before it was even _possible_ for him to give me an heir. I love him, and I will not leave him!"

Ginny stared after him, even after she heard the floo whisk him and James away to Malfoy Manor. She couldn't seem to stop hearing Malfoy's mocking laughter in her head.

* * *

Notes: Ginny tells a little of her side, now.

"Coeur Loyal", the Potter family motto and the title of the story, was actually the motto of Henry VIII of England.

As always, thank you so much for your reviews. It's very edifying to know that so many people enjoy the story well enough to let me know. Please, continue to do so.


	7. Chapter 4

(Disclaimer in the Prologue, notes at the end.)

* * *

Grandmere told me once that women have to have thicker skins than men, because we're the ones who will always have to soothe tempers and make apologies. We must be calm and gracious, even if the injured party piles abuse on the heads of our family. I asked her who makes the apologies to us. She just gave me that little smile that means I'll have to learn the answer for myself.

I don't know if Dad ever apologized to Mother. I know that I have no memory of them sharing a bedroom, and the close intimacy I would see between my aunts and uncles, the comfortable affection between Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur or Grandmere and Grandpere was notably lacking in my parents' relationship.

The summer after my birth, Dad was elected Minister. He bought Elder Cottage that same week, and we all – Dad, Mother, Al, James, and me – spent two weeks there. James is the only one who really remembers much of anything from that time, and that was mostly that Mother shouted at Dad a lot and Al cried for Scorp and Papa Draco every night.

The first two years of Dad's time as Minister, Wizarding Britain was sent into a whirlwind of change. The Wizengamot, which Aunt Hermione was a part of by that point, was called to go over many out-dated laws still on the books – such as the one against a woman flooing into a pub without a chaperone, which carried a fine of seventy galleons – and overturning many of them. Among these was the law against homosexual relationships between men. The Male Fertility Potion Draco perfected had been released on the market just before Scorpius and Albus were born, making the law, which was passed when continuation of the wizarding population depended entirely on women, obsolete.

Mother never did move back into Dad's room; my whole life, they've lived apart. Each of them with their separate lives, coming together only to keep up appearances. As far as I know, Mother never brought up the question of inheritance again. She had pulled away from James and Al, though. As we got older, she left them increasingly alone with Libby and Kreacher while she and I spent afternoons with Grandma Molly at The Burrow.

**2011-2012**

When I was four, Mother left me with the elves and my brothers for the first time. We had played dress up all morning; Mother would let me choose an outfit for her, then would cast a glamour on my own to match it. We played our dress up game in the morning, and after lunch, when I joined James and Al for a nap, she left the house.

I remember being terrified when I woke up. I cried until James sat me and Al down and read to us. Beedle the Bard fairytales. When Mother came home, she took me back to her room, told me that she might leave me at home with James and Albus again in the future, and spent the rest of the afternoon til Dad got home braiding my hair.

At supper that night, Al told Dad about our afternoon in the playroom. Dad cast a questioning look at Mother, but smiled and nodded at Albus' narrative.

The incident went unremarked-upon and forgotten, though it repeated many times over the next year. It soon became routine for Mother to put me down for a nap and not be there when I woke. I would spend the afternoons with my brothers and the nanny elves, then in Mother's room when she returned.

Weekday evenings were spent as a family. We spent a lot of time flying, usually at The Burrow, me perched on Dad's broom, his arms anchoring me securely against his chest. We almost never went higher than Al's practice broom could handle, though on rare occasion we would convice Dad to take us up in turns to do a Quidditch trick. The first time he did that, Grandma Molly tore out of the kitchen, waving a dish brush around her head, screaming until Dad landed and James – it had been his turn – had been safely on the ground. I had never seen my strong, proud Daddy look less like himself as he toed the ground like a chastised child in the face of one of Molly Weasley's famous tirades. Mother, whose lap I was snuggled in at the time, was shaking with suppressed laughter at the look on Dad's face. It is one of my few memories of that glimmer of laughter shining in her eyes.

Weekends were spent at Malfoy Manor with Papa Draco and Scorpius. Mother had balked when Dad tried to include me every weekend, and as a result I would only see my godfather and third brother one weekend a month. When Mother began taking afternoons outside the house, though, those visits increased. Soon, I was only spending a single weekend at home with Mother, or with Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. Time at the manor house was spent in a more restrained manner than our usual family time. Often, we would end up in the family room on the first floor. Scorpius would speak in a solemn tone to Dad, telling him about his week as Dad listened intently. Papa Draco would be having a similar conversation with James and Albus, though quite a bit more boisterous. Grandmere would pull me to sit with her on the sofa, where she spent time telling me stories or teaching me needlepoint or instructing me in "feminine arts", as she called them, which would prepare me to be a wife and mother one day. Grandpere sat above it all in his wingback leather chair, a snifter of brandy on the side table, smiling at us all – his family – with the heir of a benevolent deity. At the end of the night, he would read a story – usually from a book James would choose – and we would line up to give him a goodnight kiss before Gizzy would take us to bed.

The comfort and warmth of family and routine suffused our days and made our nights peaceful ones.

*

Just after my fifth birthday, before the holiday season had truly died down, that peace shattered to the tune of a headline in The Daily Prophet's society pages: MINISTER OF MAGIC CUCKOLDED?

Below the headline was a remarkably clear, muggle photo of Mother on the arm of a tall stranger, smiling as they walked through the door of a high-end hotel onto a bustling sidewalk.

_Harry was just sitting down at the breakfast table, fresh cup of coffee in hand, when two sounds reached his ears at once: a tapping at the window and the light pat of bare feet on the stairs. He opened the window, absently accepting the paper and paying the delivery bird, as he eyed the door to see which of his children was joining him for breakfast._

_He felt a brief stab of remorse as he thought that his wife would not be joining him. Ever since their argument the afternoon of Lily's Naming Ceremony, ever since his hurtful, thoughtless words, their relationship had fallen to pieces. Ginny only behaved as his wife in public, when and where the Wizarding World was watching. In the privacy of their home, she was distant, even cold. She only ever warmed up to Lily; even the boys were more or less ignored anymore._

_Harry shook his head free of those thoughts, tossed the paper on the table unopened, and smiled at James as his eldest rubbed tiredly at his eyes. The boy's brown hair – wavy, but no where near as uncontrolled as Harry's own – glinted gold in the sunlight pouring through the window as he walked groggily to his seat at the table._

_Harry was turning to fix a bowl of cereal for his son, knowing that a verbal greeting at this stage would go unheard – James was like Draco in that respect – when a shriek from the bedrooms two floors up had him flying across the room. With an order to stay in the kitchen and call Libby tossed over his shoulder to a now wide awake James, Harry tore up the stairs three at a time, arriving at the doorway to Ginny's room in time to hear the end of the howler that was raining ash on the counterpane. In time to hear the implications of that howler._

_Ginny stared up at him from where she was pressed against the headboard, one hand clutched to the base of her throat, her brown eyes wide and frantic. Harry didn't know what she saw in his face – wasn't really sure what his expression looked like – but it caused her to flinch minutely, her eyes sliding to the side before meeting his again, this time defiant._

_Harry didn't say anything, just tucked his wand into the side pocket of his robes, and turned to leave. Only to be greeted by the sight of his two youngest children, clinging to each other in the hallway, eyes wide and frightened tears threatening. Harry extended a hand, unsurprised at the strength of Albus' grip. He led his children down to the breakfast nook in the basement kitchen, where they joined James for breakfast._

_When Harry finally opened the newspaper and read the damning headline, saw the evidence in picture form, he ordered Libby to take the children to the playroom. Albus, always the slowest eater, had just finished nibbling his last piece of toast with marmalade as the nanny elf shepherded the children out of the kitchen and to the stairs._

_With a glance at the clock – it was time to head to the office; he couldn't be late today – he left a scribbled note to Ginny that they would discuss the article that evening when he got home and left via floo directly to the executive floor of the ministry._

_When he returned home that night, it became apparent that Ginny had preempted the talk he had wanted to have: she had packed up and left, taking Lily with her. Harry had been frantic for the ten minutes it had taken him to find the note she left in his bedroom, explaining that she thought it best if she moved out. She and Lily were now at Elder Cottage, where she would make her home._

_Harry sat down heavily on his bed. He stared at the note still clutched in one fist and wondered where his life had got so terribly off track …_

I continued to spend evenings with Dad and James and Albus during the week, and I now spent every weekend in Wiltshire with the rest of the family, but Mother rarely left Elder Cottage. We never heard anything about her muggle lover again, and Mother didn't take afternoons out anymore. She almost never took evenings out. For several months, she wouldn't even floo to The Burrow for fear of Grandma Molly's disapproving stares and lectures. Wizarding tradition allowed for a man to stray from his marital bed, but a wife was held to a higher standard of fidelity. Aunt Fleur stopped speaking to Mother after that article, and even Uncle Bill had a hard time looking her in the face. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron attempted to be sympathetic, but Mother had betrayed Aunt Hermione's best friend publicly, and Uncle Ron had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that his sister wasn't the innocent victim she had been when Dad was the only one being unfaithful.

Mother slipped easily into a deep depression that I thought wouldn't end and, in fact, continued until I was at Hogwarts.

* * *

Notes: Two months since my last update - _ouch_! Are you still with me? My husband and I moved into an apartment in November and just got internet earlier this month. My muse also decided to take the holidays off, so this story stagnated for a little while. However, I'm back now and I have a clear idea of where this is going! (I have at least one epilogue already written.) So, my most sincere apologies to all of you who have read this far and have been waiting for the story to continue. I hope that you enjoy, and, as always, your feedback is my bread and water!


	8. Chapter 5

(Disclaimer in the Prologue, notes at the end.)

* * *

**2022**

After I started at Hogwarts – Sorting Hufflepuff, to no one's surprise, save Uncle Ron's – Mother became more active in Snape House once again, though she worked more behind-the-scenes than she had before. She was joined in the work by Dean and Luna Thomas, and soon the Thomases were a constant presence at The Burrow during holidays. Jack and Prudence, the Thomases' twins, had been in James' class since primary school, and the three of them were nearly inseparable.

After leaving Hogwarts, Jack and James signed up for Auror training, and James began courting Pru. I had just started my fourth year and was already beginning preparations for the OWL exams, often joining Scorpius' Ravenclaw study group in the library.

Jack was left somewhat at loose ends while not in training, since his best friend and sister were growing ever-closer. He had begun working at Snape House with Mother and his parents, and soon Mother was mentioning him in all of her letters to me.

Despite this, I was still somewhat shocked to find he had moved into Elder Cottage when I went home for Christmas. I was relieved, however; Mother's moods had seemed to grow more volatile since I left for school, with fits of depression overtaking her with alarming frequency. Dad and I had been concerned for her for quite some time.

From there, it seemed almost natural to begin a regular correspondence with Jack Thomas. At first, it was largely made up of reports on Mother's state of mind and general health, but he soon became a close friend and confidant.

I shared Hogwarts gossip with Jack – especially concerning Albus' attempts to woo Missy Redgraves, which, to my eye, was an effort in futility and hilarity – and he passed along anecdotes from Auror training and Snape House. When Mother renewed her girlhood-romance with Dean Thomas while Luna turned a discreetly blind eye, it seemed natural that I should learn of it via Jack's distraught missive.

My immediate reaction to the news was a jaded cynicism. At Hogwarts, Jack, James, and Pru had shared a love of pranks on par with Uncles Fred and George and nearing Marauder-status. I had learned early on to take anything they told me with more than a pinch of salt. However, Jack's letters began to take on an almost steady litany against our parents' affair. Still feeling a more-than-healthy dose of scepticism, I wrote to Grandmere, who, thanks to a near-prodigious network of gossips and informants, knew everything about everyone in British wizarding society.

She confirmed Jack's news for me just before the end of term, and I was left with one short week in which to decide whether to confront Mother or leave it alone.

*

When the train pulled into London, I still hadn't decided what to do with the news of Mother's new relationship.

On the one hand, Mother – and myself, to a lesser degree – still suffered the fallout of her last affair. She could scarcely show her face in wizarding society, and she was never invited directly to any events. She had been forced to move her work with Snape House behind the scenes when donations dropped off after the news of her infidelity was made public.

On the other, Dad had had Papa Draco for longer than I'd been alive and hadn't shared a bed with Mother since my Naming. I'd known for as long as I could remember that wizarding laws and traditions unfairly favoured men; flexibility of wedding vows was truly only the tip of the iceberg.

As I stepped down from the train, I spotted Dad and Mother immediately, the Malfoys not far from where they waited. I remembered with a terrific clarity the state Mother had been in when I left in September. She had been consumed with one of her depressions most of August, hardly ever out of bed. I had most of the photos in the cottage stashed at the bottom of my school trunk most of the summer. On the first of September, it had taken Dad and Aunt Hermione both to help me pull her from her room, dressed in robes that wouldn't have been out of place at a War Widows' Society meeting. At Christmas, she had barely been better, and I knew from Jack's letters that she had slipped back into depression shortly after I returned to Hogwarts.

And so it was easy, the moment I caught her eye and got a genuinely happy smile for the first time in close to a year, to determine I would hold my tongue about her relationship with Mr. Thomas.

*

I shared my thoughts on the matter with Jack that night. Dad and my brothers had all been at the cottage for supper, as had Pru, but they had all been gone for hours by the time Jack and I sat across from each other in matching leather armchairs. I was in my pyjamas, curled against one arm, feet tucked under me, while Jack was still in his trainee uniform, scarlet robe unfastened at his throat. He had slouched down when I told him my decision, folding his arms in a mulish gesture that I recognised from James' repertoire.

He didn't understand my reasons for not saying anything – didn't _want_ to understand, I had accused him. His blue eyes were flinty as he glared across at me, his face darkened with a scowl.

"Is your mother unhappy?" I finally asked him. I knew that his primary complaint had been on Luna's behalf. His "no," was hardly more than a sulky grunt. "Mother was _happy_ tonight, Jack. Did you notice? She even smiled at Albus and Scorpius; in fifteen years, she has _never_ smiled at Scorpius. If your dad is the reason for that, how can I tell her to give him up?"

There was a long silence, then Jack seemed to deflate. He rubbed a hand over his face before standing.

"I will never understand your family, Lily," was the only good night I got.

* * *

Notes: I feel so terrible. Once again, I'm gone for months with only a short chapter to show for it. My apologies to any and everyone who has been waiting for this story to update. I swear to you, it will not be abandoned. I needed to get Jack into the story, and he fought me the entire time. Thank you for your patience, wonderful readers; I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint too much.


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